Cold Death

by Mary Stone

  Ellie closed her eyes and swayed as a dam burst in her head and the memories from that night came flooding back yet again.

  Kingsley had tied them both up and left them facing each other. At fifteen, Ellie had been terrified and unsure, but growing up in a loving family meant she’d entered the warehouse with emotional reserves. She’d trusted that someone would come and save her. That she’d escape and survive.

  Sophie, with her abusive, desperate background, had none of those positive experiences to draw upon. The second Kingsley had explained the rules of his terrible Die, Bitch! Die game, her thin body had sagged, and the light in her eyes flickered out. Now that Ellie could finally access the memory in full, she could see the defeat in the other girl’s expression. Resignation to her fate.

  Before the game had even started, Sophie had been convinced that she would die.

  The photo album slipped from Ellie’s numb fingers. Her knees buckled. Clay swooped in before she fell, scooping her up in his strong arms and pressing her tight to his chest, holding her upright as she choked and gasped for air.

  “Breathe, Ellie. Remember to breathe.”

  Clay’s urgent command in her ear was what snapped her out of the daze. What alerted her to the violent spasms that gripped her chest and throat.

  No wonder she’d grown lightheaded. She was sobbing so hard, she’d been unable to suck enough oxygen into her lungs.

  He cradled her head to his chest. Beneath her ear, his heart beat a strong, soothing rhythm. She clutched his shirt, inhaling his clean, familiar fragrance and rode out the last of her tears.

  When the worst was over, she hiccupped twice and shuddered. “It’s her,” she whispered, without lifting her head from his flannel shirt. “The girl in the warehouse, back when he kidnapped me as a teen. I finally know her name. Sophie.”

  36

  “I hate to burst your bubble, but Superman is most definitely the strongest superhero of the entire bunch. Prove me wrong.”

  Clay offered up the challenge from the back seat, and as anticipated, Bethany rose to the occasion. She squealed and turned around in the front passenger seat so she could fix Clay with the full force of her righteous eight-year-old indignation. “Easy! All you need to beat Superman is a stupid chunk of space rock. Does that sound strong to you?”

  “I think she’s got you there.” Ellie tossed an amused glance over her shoulder before returning her attention to the road.

  “Okay, so clearly, Superman was a bad choice. Batman, on the other hand, now he’s one tough fellow, and space rocks don’t bother him a bit.”

  Far from annoying Ellie, their banter pleased her immensely. Clay had elicited multiple giggles from Bethany on this road trip already, probably more during this single outing than she’d laughed in the entire three-some-odd weeks following Katarina’s death combined. Ellie would have tap-danced up and down the sidewalks of downtown Charleston dressed like any of the caped crusaders in order to get the girl to smile more.

  Lucky for her and the local residents, Clay and his superhero debate skills had rendered that option unnecessary.

  While Bethany was distracted by the debate, Ellie shook out her right hand before placing it on the steering wheel. This was also the first stretch where Bethany had allowed Ellie free use of her arm. Ever since that awful night, the little girl insisted on clinging to Ellie’s hand everywhere she went. Except for in the bathroom. Ellie had those moments to herself. But cooking, cleaning, even driving, forget it. She’d had to learn to do everything one-handed.

  The good news was, if Ellie ever injured her arm in a freak accident, she was good to go. Not that she was complaining.

  Ellie tapped the brakes when the Taurus in front of them slowed, before checking the rear mirror and changing lanes. Katarina’s daughter was a tough little cookie, but trauma needed to be processed. The more weeks that passed, the safer Ellie hoped Bethany would feel. But Ellie didn’t kid herself. She remembered her own mood swings and sky-high need for reassurance after her Kingsley trauma, and she’d been fifteen.

  Ellie glanced over at the girl, who was pointing at Clay and giggling.

  Katarina, you were right. She truly is one of the most resilient people I’ve ever met.

  As she returned her eyes to the road, her heart twinged with a bittersweet pang. Somewhere out there, she hoped Katarina was watching the daughter she’d sacrificed her life to protect. She hoped she was finally at peace, knowing that Bethany was truly safe at last.

  Kingsley’s legacy of cruelty and horror had died with him. Ellie would never mourn his death. She only wished that they’d stopped the monster before his final, murderous act and prevented him from killing his own granddaughter.

  Her knuckles tightened on the steering wheel before she flicked the signal on and turned left at a green light. Ellie navigated the Explorer half a block and then pulled into a drive that led to a brick building and parked in an empty spot out front.

  When Ellie shut the engine off, Clay draped his arm over her seat back and peered out the windshield. “What’s here?”

  Ellie met Clay’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “You know how for the last month, I’ve been meeting my mom for lunch at least once a week?”

  Her odd subject change sent the FBI agent’s eyebrows disappearing into his cowboy hat, but in true Clay fashion, he didn’t question it. “Right, I remember you saying as much. I reckon family feels pretty important, given,” he slanted a quick glance at Bethany, “how things played out.”

  “It does. I realized I was taking mine for granted, and decided to fix that, stat.” Ellie toyed with a loose curl. “I also decided that having a family with money comes in handy sometimes…like when you need it to hire three private investigators to track down a single woman.”

  From his bemused smile, Clay hadn’t deciphered where this was leading yet. He would, though. Soon enough.

  Ellie cleared her throat and leaned across Bethany to unlock the glove box. “For me, one of the toughest parts of being a law enforcement officer is how thin we spread ourselves when we work multiple cases. Lucky for all of us, Helen Kline is a damn smart lady. She insisted on paying for the investigators, believing that more eyes solely dedicated to this one missing person would help. Turns out, she was right. No surprise there, although, if you ever tell her I said that, I’ll deny every word.”

  No laugh for her little joke. “What are you saying?” Clay breathed the sentence like a prayer, with hope and doubt underlying every word.

  Ellie pulled the thick envelope and stuffed animal from the glove box. She didn’t have to check the mirror to confirm that Clay’s eyes were glued to both. “Last year, a homeless young woman was taken to the hospital with pneumonia. Thanks to the help from a couple of dedicated social workers, she was placed in an adult group home once she recovered, where she’ll spend the next few months healing from long-term trauma before hopefully being released to live independently.”

  His throat bobbed. “Is that…are you saying…?”

  Clay faltered, his brown eyes glimmering with unshed tears as he reached out with a tentative hand to accept the stuffed animal she offered.

  A pink pig.

  His mouth gaped, and he blinked rapidly, lifting his head to meet her eyes. “Ellie, I…” Something past her caught his eye and he just stared, “Oh my god.”

  Ellie spun in the seat to see what had turned his cheeks ashen beneath his tan. The front door of the brick building was open, and two women stood on the porch. One wore baby blue nurse’s scrubs and had brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. The other one was blonde, dressed in gray sweatpants and a pale pink t-shirt.

  It was the second of the two women who Ellie knew Clay stared at like he’d seen a ghost. “Caraleigh.”

  The reverence with which he whispered his sister’s name tightened Ellie’s throat. He repeated it a second time. Louder. “Caraleigh!”

  When he wrenched his gaze to Ellie, the tears spilled from his eyes unabashedly
, even as pure joy radiated from his smile. “Thank you.”

  Too choked up to speak, Ellie nodded, then jerked her head at the door while urging him on with a silent command. Go on, doofus, get out and see her already.

  Clay’s smile widened, and he bounded out of the SUV. His long legs ate up the sidewalk as he crossed the short distance to where his sister waited.

  Ellie held her breath when Clay stopped a couple feet short, and after the smallest of hesitations, opened his arms wide. Please don’t reject him.

  She needn’t have worried. After a tiny hesitation, Caraleigh launched herself at her brother, laughing and crying all at once. Clay wrapped his arms around his sister, picked her up off her feet, and swung her in a wide circle.

  “Who is that lady with Mr. Clay?”

  Bethany had been so quiet up until now that Ellie had all but forgotten she was sitting there, taking the reunion in with cautious eyes.

  “That’s Clay’s little sister. She’s been missing for a very long time, but he’s finally found her again.”

  Bethany studied Clay and Caraleigh as they hugged and cried. Her smaller hand snaked into Ellie’s.

  Guilt stabbed Ellie as she tore her attention from the emotional pair on the porch. Idiot. This was clearly too much, too soon for Bethany, after losing her own family. Ellie should have worried less about surprising Clay and more about Bethany’s fragile mental health. “I’m so sorry, honey, is this upsetting you?”

  After what felt like minutes, Bethany slowly shook her head. “No. I was just wondering…do you think Clay’s sister likes Wonder Woman better than Batman?”

  The hard, aching knot in Ellie’s chest loosened, and she huffed a teary laugh. “I don’t know, but I bet we can ask her one day soon.”

  She squeezed Bethany’s fingers before turning back toward the group home. Together, they watched as Clay handed the stuffed pig over to his sister. The delight that lit up her pale face caused the knot beneath Ellie’s ribs to loosen even more before disintegrating into dust like it had never even existed.

  For the first time since that fateful day at age fifteen when a single teenage rebellion had landed her in a killer’s sights, Ellie could breathe one-hundred-percent freely again. She reached across the center console and pulled Bethany close, while twenty feet away, Clay mirrored the action with his sister.

  Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even the week after that, but one day in the not too distant future, Ellie knew they were all going to be okay.

  37

  With a gasp, Ellie’s eyes flew open. Her heart hammered against her ribs while she peered into the darkness and gulped mouthfuls of air. Sweat plastered her t-shirt to her back, and her boxers clung to her thighs, so she kicked off the comforter, bunching the sheet in her hands as she waited for the panic to subside.

  The specifics of the nightmare evaded her. She only remembered a flash of Kingsley’s leering face, and Sophie, begging for Ellie to end the game. The dread lingered, though, like a deep, internal chill that not even the warmest blanket could banish.

  He’s dead. He can’t hurt anyone, not anymore.

  She repeated the silent mantra until her pulse stopped whooshing in her ears and her body quit shaking. The alarm clock on the bedside table glowed with soft light. Almost six a.m.

  Over a month now since she’d shot Kingsley dead. A month full of nights still frequented by nightmares. Would they ever end? Ellie was starting to wonder. Terrible as the dreams were, though, she’d take bad dreams any day of the week over the old memory gaps.

  Online research suggested that the nightmares were her brain’s method of processing the restored memories, predicting that they’d fade in time.

  Ellie hoped so, but if not? She’d survive.

  Especially if the demons stayed securely trapped in her subconscious, where the only harm they could do was cost her a few hours of sleep here and there.

  The mattress creaked, and an arm snaked around her waist, tugging until her back nestled up against a firm, masculine chest. Warmth and a familiar musky-clean scent enveloped her, chasing off the last remnants of the dream.

  He pressed a soft kiss to her nape. “What was this one about?” The question rumbled against her skin, tickling.

  “I don’t remember.” True enough. Besides, the specifics of the dream didn’t matter. It wasn’t real.

  What was real was Clay’s solid warmth in her bed. The drawer in her dresser, where he stashed his spare clothes, and the green toothbrush that cohabitated in the silver holder next to hers.

  What was real was the patience Clay had shown when he’d waited all those long, lonely months for her to be ready for a relationship.

  What mattered was how the rugged lines of his face and his brown eyes softened whenever he looked at her and how he’d never given up on them. Not once.

  Ellie trailed her fingers across his forearm, reveling in the light dusting of hair and the corded muscle, now relaxed beneath warm skin. His presence didn’t keep the nightmares at bay, but she recovered more quickly when she woke to his warm body nestled beside her.

  Turned out, subconscious demons held less power over her when Clay was by her side. All she had to do was reach over and touch him, and the ghosts of her past began to dissipate like dandelion seeds in the wind.

  She rolled over until she faced him and pressed her lips to his. Morning light was just beginning to chase off the dusky gray when their bodies joined in a familiar, pleasure-filled rhythm. By the time he cried out and collapsed on top of her, the nightmare was forgotten. Banished into the dark fringes of her subconscious, to reemerge again another day.

  Minutes later, Ellie slipped from the bed, pulled on her discarded t-shirt and a pair of knit lounge pants, and padded barefoot toward the kitchen. On her way out, the pipes squealed as Clay prepared to jump in the shower. Into her shower.

  Maybe she should feel weird, going from zero to sixty like this. In the space of a few days, she’d essentially gone from sprinting away at the slightest whiff of commitment, to most mornings, having a man lathering up with the French-milled soap her mom had gifted her under her oversized rain showerhead, drying off with her favorite soft green towels, and shaving his stubble in her bathroom sink.

  If so, too bad, because she didn’t feel weird about Clay’s increased significance and presence in her life at all.

  Ellie headed straight for the coffee maker. Within minutes, the delicious aroma teased her nose. Once she’d poured the steaming liquid ambrosia into a punny I Like Big Busts and I Cannot Lie mug decorated with a cartoon police car—a gift from Jillian, of course—she carried the cup to the dining room table and flopped into a chair.

  All right. Now for the challenging part of the morning.

  After swallowing a few sips of the hot brew for courage, Ellie steeled her shoulders and pulled up the video website. “You can do this.”

  A deep breath later, she was typing “how to make perfect scrambled eggs” into the search bar.

  Ah, the glamorous life.

  Ellie snickered as a much too perky blonde woman prattled on about types of skillets and how to tell if an egg was fresh or not by dropping it into a bowl of water. According to Suzy Sunshine here, floaters were bad, sinkers good.

  So basically, the chicken equivalent of the Salem witch trials. Strange, but whatever. Ellie shrugged as she skipped ahead to get to the actual egg-scrambling part, pausing when soft footsteps padded down the hall.

  Ellie glanced up with a smile at the little girl. “Morning, sunshine.”

  “Morning.” Bethany slid into the empty chair next to Ellie’s that she’d claimed as her own.

  “Sleep okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  To double check, Ellie appraised the dark circles under the little girl’s eyes. Still there, but shrinking daily now that Bethany was sleeping through the night. The first two weeks in Ellie’s apartment, she’d woken up every hour screaming, but the nightmares had gradually diminished. Their family therapy
appointment loomed ahead on Thursday, a necessary evil that Ellie only agreed to because the social worker insisted the sessions were mandatory.

  Left to her own devices, Ellie could have happily lived out the remainder of her life without ever seeing another therapist or shrink. She’d gone the therapy route once before, and…surprise! He’d turned out to be a murderous sociopath’s sidekick. Her residual trust issues hadn’t just gone poof and disappeared once the sociopath died.

  For Bethany, though, she’d grit her teeth and talk to a thousand shrinks if that would make the difference between the court okaying the adoption or not.

  The little girl picked at the cuticle on her thumb, her eyes downcast. Sensing there was more to the story, Ellie shoved the phone aside and scooted her chair closer, until their knees touched. “Okay, now tell me the truth. How did you sleep, really?”

  Bethany hunched her shoulders. “I had a nightmare.”

  Her posture was so dejected that Ellie’s heart melted. Using her knee, she nudged the girl’s leg until she raised her head. “Guess what? I had a nightmare too. Maybe we can start a club or something.”

  “Really, you had one too?”

  “Really. Can you tell me about yours? Sometimes, they’re less scary after you talk about them.”

  Bethany watched her index finger trace circles on the table. “I…he locked me in the fridge again. I crawled around trying to find my way out, and there was a…a dead o-o-possum. I screamed and screamed, but no one came to rescue me.”

  “Oh, sweetie.”

  Ellie opened her arms in invitation, and Bethany crawled out of her chair and into Ellie’s lap like she was half monkey, her skinny body somehow generating enough heat to make an electric blanket jealous. She clung to Ellie’s neck as Ellie stroked her back, whispering soothing noises while a tidal wave of emotion surged in her breast.

  In the space of a month, Katarina’s daughter had managed to worm her way into Ellie’s heart and instill in her a mama bear’s fierce protectiveness. She inhaled the strawberry-scented hair that tickled her nose before tilting her face up toward the ceiling.